


Ner Kar'ta

by Ort



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, But whatever, Canon-Typical Violence, Corin Valentis - Freeform, Cuddling & Snuggling, Din Djarin - Freeform, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, excessive use of Mando'a, time is probably a little warped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ort/pseuds/Ort
Summary: (First 3 chapters written before Hidden and Revealed)Din keeps his heart to himself and knows that it will be safe there until morning
Relationships: Baby Yoda & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret) & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 126





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Family and Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758992) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 



> LadyIrina is great and I said to her once that I would maybe write something and well, here it is. :>
> 
> Note: I've tried to use Mando'a here as accurately as possible - some of it is non-canon from within the fandom (like one word I think), but I've done my best to stay within the canon language for everything. Who knows, maybe as more info comes out or if others can help me make correction, I'll go back and change it. 
> 
> For now, translations at the bottom. :>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at end.

_ Ner kar’ta.  _

The phrase sits in his mouth like a sacred ceremonial flame, alighting on the tip of his tongue and burning the insides of his cheeks; he presses his lips together, as if the very act of parting them would release all his love into the world, and he would be left with none to call his own. 

He imagines it would fill his helmet first, swirling around his head and dancing before his eyes, before being sucked out through his ventilator. It would sweep through their tiny room, over their heads, over the sleeping Child, and then go bursting through the door and flooding the corridor, taking with it every burning torchlight and candle flame. 

The entire covert would be filled, and then it would be emptied, and his love would go flying into the night air, spread thin across the city, and then the planet, and then the rest of everything that there is and ever will be. 

He thinks it would be beautiful, his love reaching the very edges of the universe, but he is selfish; he keeps his mouth closed and jaw tense as he shifts deeper into the bed beneath him, wrapping his arms tighter around the form atop his chest. Corin mumbles something, pressing closer, and Din feels his lips tug into a small smile. 

“Nuhoy, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to card his fingers through soft hair. 

“Ni kebbur’ni…” is the muttered response. “Gar mirdir... naysol…”

“Ah, n’eparavu takisit.” Din whispers his apology, holding back a huff of laughter. He rests his hand on the back of Corin’s neck, fingers playing with the short hairs at the base of Corin’s skull.  _ He’ll want another haircut soon _ , Din thinks and feels a twinge of sadness at the thought, running the pad of his thumb up and down Corin’s neck. 

Corin grumbles something, burrowing deeper into Din’s chest. Din pauses in his caress. 

“Meg, cyar’ika?” 

Corin lifts his head, his eyes still half closed as he focuses on Din. His lips are pursed, heavy with sleep, but Din doesn’t miss the way they twitch with the ghost of a smile. 

“Gar ch-chakar’ni be nuhoy… ge’hutuun.” 

Din blinks, taken aback by the statement, but then Corin smiles fully, soft and mischievous, and Din pulls him close, startled laughter rumbling in his chest. He can feel Corin shaking against him as well. 

“Ah, ni ceta! Ni ceta!” He whispers dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillow. Corin laughs into his chest as Din continues. “Gedet’ye, cyar’ika! Gedet’ye gar par’dinuir’ni!” 

Corin pushes against him, trying to escape his hold, but Din only holds him tighter, twisting to the side so that Corin is now fully on top of him, flailing to keep his balance. 

“Din!” He cries, laughter making his voice shrill. “Din, stop!” He slips into common, voice cracking as he grabs Din’s shoulder for support, and Din howls in delight at the sound. Corin uses his other arm to wack him unceremoniously, still laughing, before falling back with a sigh. His legs dangle over Din’s side. 

“Utreekov,” he murmurs, and Din feels a hand on his arm, squeezing it affectionately. He grins and wishes, desperately, that Corin could see. 

_ Soon,  _ he tells himself. He’s about to push himself up and truly apologise this time, when a sound from across the room makes him pause. Both he and Corin sit up, looking to where the Child is standing in his crib, head tilted to one side. He flicks one of his ears when he sees them and then coos, reaching out his hands. Corin shifts to get up, but Din places a hand on his chest and pushes him back.

“Gar shuk meh kyrayce, cyar’ika,” he murmurs and stands, stretching as he does so. He hears a pop in his shoulder and rolls it as he makes his way over to the crib. 

“Su’cuy, adi’ika,” he whispers in greeting and smiles when the Child bounces in his crib, claws outstretched in Din’s direction. He coos when Din lifts him, cradling him close to his chest. “Gar ganar vercopa?” 

The Child trills quietly, gripping the fabric of Din’s sleep shirt in his small hand. His eyes are lidded and his breathing is soft; Din runs a finger over the top of the Child’s head and receives a small purr in response. 

“Did we wake him?” Corin says from the bed, sitting up. Din shrugs and carries the Child to bed, placing him down amongst the blankets and pillows. The Child squirms, rolling over and stumbling to his feet, and Din rolls his eyes before sitting down on the bed as well. The Child teeters to the side, Din reaching out a hand to keep him steady, before it half walks-half falls over to Corin’s lap. Corin accepts him with a chuckle, helping the Child get situated, before pulling a blanket over his small form. The Child sighs, sleepy contentment evident on his features, and, within a few seconds, has fallen back to sleep. 

Din and Corin watch him in silence, pressed shoulder to shoulder. The room around them is quiet as well, the only noise coming from beyond their door; Din can faintly hear the footsteps of a patrolling tribe member as they head towards the Forge. Come morning, the halls will be filled with the laughter of foundlings and the familiar clanking of beskar as the covert awakens. 

Din yawns, peaceful. Beside him, Corin leans to rest his head against Din’s shoulder. He nods towards the Child. 

“He has the right idea,” he whispers and Din hums in agreement. Together they rearrange themselves, the Child tucked between them as they lay back. 

Already Din can feel sleep lurking at the edges of his mind, but he pushes it away in favor of reaching over and wrapping an arm around Corin’s waist. Corin’s eyes are already closed, but he smiles anyway. Din watches, quiet for a moment, before squeezing his hand over Corin’s hip bone. His companion quirks an eyebrow in response, but does not open his eyes. 

“Your mando'a has gotten better,” Din finally murmurs, and Corin smiles. 

“Well... considering it’s almost all you guys speak here,” he responds, his voice weighed down with sleep. “I’ve had… no other… choice…” 

His voice drops away, breaths becoming even. Din waits, but there is no other response, so he simply draws Corin a little closer, mindful of their foundling between them, and closes his eyes. 

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he whispers, despite the fact that he knows the other is already asleep. 

_ Ner kar’ta,  _ he thinks, but keeps his lips pressed tight together, afraid to let it go without the other awake to receive it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Ner Kar'ta" - My heart. (a term of endearment)  
> "Cyar'ika" - Lover, darling (a term of endearment)  
> "Nuhoy" - Sleep  
> "Ni kebbur’ni" - I'm trying  
> "Gar mirdir... naysol" - You think... to many (poorly phrased. Corin is still learning, I'd imagine)  
> "N’eparavu takisit" - I'm sorry. ( lit. "i eat my insult.' A less serious form of apology.)  
> "Meg" - What? (Can also mean who, when, how, why)  
> "Gar chakar’ni be nuhoy, ge’hutuun." - You rob me of sleep, villain/petty thief (Corin being dramatic)  
> "Ni ceta" - I'm sorry (lit. I grovel before you! Very serious, though, here, Din is just being dramatic as well.)  
> "Gedet’ye" - Please  
> "Gedet’ye gar par’dinuir’ni" - Please, forgive me! (par'dinuir taken from fandom)  
> "Utreekov" - Idiot  
> "Gar shuk meh kyrayce" - Relax/Rest (lit. Your no use dead. Rarely used literally.)  
> "Su’cuy, adi’ika" - Hello, little one/my child. ("Hi." Informal of "Su cuy'gar" - lit. you're still alive.)  
> "Gar ganar vercopa" - Did you dream?  
> "Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum" - I love you (lit. I know you forever)
> 
> :>


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather important and, perhaps, overdue question.
> 
> I imagine this won't be how it actually goes down, but in the meantime, my thoughts have run rampant and I trapped them on this here page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to continue this, but I suppose it'll be a place for any drabbles I write for these two.

“Will you marry me?” 

The question is asked so softly that Corin almost believes he’s imagined it. 

He remains still, eyes closed, his breathing as even as he can manage, and waits, counting the seconds as they go by. There’s a heavy pause, the silence of the room stretching to what feels like an infinity, and Corin feels a wash of shameful dismay over imagining such stupid things, before the mattress dips behind him and Din leans over; a hand touches his shoulder, gentle and warm, and he hears the soft crackle of Din’s ventilator. 

“Are you awake?” 

This question, like the last, is impossibly soft. Corin hesitates, unsure of how to proceed, before deciding to play the long game; he exhales, scrunching his nose as if he’s just been woken from sleep, and turns around to bury his face into Din’s chest, eyes still shut tight. Din chuckles, a nervous edge to his voice, and Corin feels an arm curl around his waist, pulling him close. 

The Razor Crest’s cot is small, not even close to the most comfortable thing he’s ever slept on, but the quilt over top of him is warm and fluffy, a souvenir from the last planet they visited, and Din’s arm around him is equally pleasant. 

Said arm squeezes him a bit tighter, jostling him just enough that Corin knows Din is trying to wake him up; he’s suddenly scared, nerves firing off like blaster shots at the prospect of his imagination actually being reality. 

He doesn’t get too much time to dwell on what he thinks is about to happen, before his head is being tilted upwards with the utmost care, a warm hand on his chin, and then Din’s helm is pressed to his forehead; the cool of the metal is more than a little shocking and he flinches, peeking open his eyes in what he hopes is, at the very least, an approximation of a glare. 

It’s not very effective, if Din’s soft chuckle is anything to go by, and Corin almost attempts to turn over again, if only to avoid this whole conversation, but Din pulls him closer, a quiet apology for waking him whispered beneath the helmet and then there is silence again, laden with apprehension. Corin hesitates, staring at the spot right below Din’s visor, before bringing a hand up to trace the hard lines of Din’s collar bone, feeling the Mandalorian shiver beneath his touch. 

“What?” he whispers and a part of him, a desperate, childish, overly hopeful part of him, waits for the question. 

The rest of him screams, a wave of doubt threatening to drown him in this very bed; he imagines himself slipping out of Din’s arms and to the floor of Crest, hot shame melting his body to become one with the metal floor. He almost wishes that would be the case. At least, then, he probably wouldn’t have the brain capacity to feel disgraced. 

Din tenses, the hand on Corin’s back flexing slightly before coming up to rest at the back of his neck, gripping it gently. Corin hums involuntarily at the contact, gaze now locked on Din’s visor. 

_ Say it, _ a part of him screams, hoping. 

_ Don’t, _ the rest of him counters, as if willing Din to just turn away and let Corin go back to whatever fantasies he has of being worthy of this kind of life. 

But almost nothing, as he’s come to realize, can tell Din what to do, so Corin simply braces himself when Din takes a deep breath, helmet tilted up so Corin imagines he must be staring at the wall behind Corin’s head. 

“...will you marry me?” 

It is said as quietly as it was the first time, but it’s like pounding thunder in Corin’s ears. He reels, swallowing hard and turning his gaze down to stare at Din’s bare chest; he can almost hear the Mandalorian’s heartbeat, can feel it thumping against his open palm. 

Din deflates, arms pulling back ever so slightly, and Corin realizes that he’s waited too long to answer, so he panics, pushing into Din and gripping his shoulders tightly. 

Din falls still. 

Corin’s mind is racing, going over every moment, every word said, every ‘I love you’ and every ‘ner kar’ta’ and every time his hand has been held in the grip of the other, and his forehead pressed against smooth metal, and every touch and taste and moan and cry and every time Corin has held hope in his hands, only for it to slip through his fingers. 

The last one has never been Din. Din has always been there to catch whatever falls and refill the well within Corin’s palms. 

“You can say ‘no’...” Din whispers, still holding him lightly. Corin balks, pulling back to look at him. 

“Why?” He winces at his own voice; he can barely speak, his words thin and breathless. 

“Because I never want to make you do something you do want-” 

“No,” Corin cuts him off, shaking his head lightly. “Why… why would you ask  _ me _ that?” 

He knows. He already knows why. 

And yet…

And yet he’s Corin. 

He’s CT-113. He’s a stormtrooper and an ex-stormtrooper and a lousy soldier and an unlucky bastard and he knows he’s not worthy of this. He knows he hasn’t done anything to deserve this. To deserve Din and the Child. He knows that Din is making a mistake; that he must not be thinking because Corin is bad luck and Corin should just say ‘no’ and tell Din to get a grip and get some sense and finally move on because, surely, this wasn’t supposed to last, right? 

He knows this despite knowing that none of it is true. Din’s told him too many times, and he trusts Din too much not to believe him. 

Still, he flinches when Din brings a hand up to brush the hair from Corin’s eyes, fingers threading through the dark locks and scratching at his scalp. Corin melts beneath the touch, leaning into it with a small sigh. 

“Because I want to eat with you.” 

Corin blinks, the absurdity of the statement giving him pause, but Din continues before he can ask. 

“I want to sit at a table and eat a meal with you and the kid. I want to have a drink with you.” He moves to cup the back of Corin’s neck once more. “I want to get drunk and laugh with you and smile and…” He trails off, shoulders tense beneath Corin’s hands. 

“... kiss you.” Din whispers finally, helmet tilting down to look at Corin. 

Corin, for his part, remains absolutely still, breath held in nervous anticipation. 

He can feel the heat of his cheeks creeping up through the rest of his face, but ignores it in favor of placing a hand on the cheek of Din’s helm. Din exhales, slowly. 

“I want to look at you with my own eyes and kiss you and tell you I love you without anything between us…” 

Corin listens, the rise and fall of Din’s voice as he continues to name all the things he wants soothing whatever fear still lurks in the shadows of Corin’s mind, and he finds himself sinking further into Din’s embrace. 

“Yes,” he finally whispers, his lips pressed against Din’s neck. Din pauses. 

“What?” 

“Yes,” Corin repeats and smiles when he feels Din curl around him. “Yes, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Din repeats, his voice laced with quiet laughter, and then he’s hugging Corin so tightly that Corin feels his back crack; he can’t bring himself to care though, and simply wraps his arms around Din in return, laughing against him. The two of them remain there, in a tangle of limbs and laughter, until Corin feels tears prick at his eyes and he smushes his face into Din’s chest. Din quiets, his hand making little circles in the space between Corin’s shoulder blades. 

“Ner kar’ta,” Din murmurs, like a question. 

“I’m alright,” Corin answers, voice thick. “I really am.” 

“I believe you.”

Corin sighs, tightening his hold on Din, and nuzzles closer. Din responds in kind, the warmth of his arms a grounding presence. 

“What does getting married entail?” Corin finally asks. “By Mandalorian standards, that is.”

“A vow.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“Sounds about right.”

They fall silent, the question heavy in the air, but Din saves Corin the trouble of saying it aloud.

“We don’t have to do it right now. Or even within the week…” He trails a finger across one of Corin’s shoulder blades. “We do it whenever it feels right. I just wanted to know if… if you wanted to…” 

Corin nods, happy that Din has understood (though at this point he shouldn’t be surprised); he can feel himself drifting off again, warm and content in Din’s embrace, until the other’s voice draws him away from sleep before he can fully submit. 

“You’d… see my face.” 

Corin inhales through his nose, blinking at the thought, and smiles. It’s rather watery. 

“I figured as much,” he says in lieu of getting emotional. Din huffs knowingly, placing a hand on his waist. 

“You’d be able to officially adopt the kid.” 

That almost breaks him, but Corin only purses his lips and blinks away the tears threatening to make a reappearance. 

“Well,” he starts, and clears his throat. “If only you’d said that at the beginning, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

“Ah, so it’s really all just for the kid.” 

“Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Din repeats again, and Corin can hear the smile in his voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Ner Kar'ta" - My heart. (a term of endearment)  
> "Cyar'ika" - Lover, darling (a term of endearment)  
> "Nuhoy" - Sleep  
> "Ni kebbur’ni" - I'm trying  
> "Gar mirdir... naysol" - You think... to many (poorly phrased. Corin is still learning, I'd imagine)  
> "N’eparavu takisit" - I'm sorry. ( lit. "i eat my insult.' A less serious form of apology.)  
> "Meg" - What? (Can also mean who, when, how, why)  
> "Gar chakar’ni be nuhoy, ge’hutuun." - You rob me of sleep, villain/petty thief (Corin being dramatic)  
> "Ni ceta" - I'm sorry (lit. I grovel before you! Very serious, though, here, Din is just being dramatic as well.)  
> "Gedet’ye" - Please  
> "Gedet’ye gar par’dinuir’ni" - Please, forgive me! (par'dinuir taken from fandom)  
> "Utreekov" - Idiot  
> "Gar shuk meh kyrayce" - Relax/Rest (lit. Your no use dead. Rarely used literally.)  
> "Su’cuy, adi’ika" - Hello, little one/my child. ("Hi." Informal of "Su cuy'gar" - lit. you're still alive.)  
> "Gar ganar vercopa" - Did you dream?  
> "Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum" - I love you (lit. I know you forever)
> 
> :>


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :V
> 
> Despite what the past two chapters may suggest, my true passion has always been writing angst. So here:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rating change, not for this chapter in particular, but for possible future chapters.

The bandit drives the dagger forward and Din howls, jerking back in an attempt to get away; Corin struggles with another bandit, his own cry pushing past his lips as he watches Din’s opponent pull away, their weapon gripped firmly in their hand and coated red. 

A slice to his leg draws Corin’s attention and he’s forced to fight back, snarling at the bandit on top of him and slashing with his weapon, the vibroblade cutting a deadly arc across the bandit’s chest. They writhe, clutching at the wound, and Corin uses the moment to grab their collar, pulling them down so he can drag his blade across their neck; he struggles at first with the thick fabric of their outfit, but his blade cuts true and a part of him revels in the burst of blood that follows.

He can’t see their face, obscured by a protective sand mask, but he doesn’t need to in order to know he’s succeeded. The bandit chokes, collapsing backwards and toppling over; they fall awkwardly over their bent legs, a strange gurgle escaping them as air whistles uselessly through their wound. Corin struggles to his feet, ignoring them in favor of turning to Din, and feels his breath leave him all at once. 

Din is on the ground, weakly clutching his side, while his adversary stands over him, breathing hard. Their dagger is pointed at Din. 

It takes less than a second for Corin to see red, his vision tunneling, and then he’s running, a roar ripped from his throat as he throws himself at the bandit, barreling them over; their cry of surprise is cut off as they hit the ground. Corin follows soon after, shoving them back when they try to rise. 

The two of them grapple, scrambling for purchase in the loose sand. The bandit takes a swipe at Corin’s face, but he simply catches their wrist, twisting it so that their grip on their weapon falters; he grabs it and jabs the hilt into the side of the bandits head, blind rage driving him to repeat the action twice more. The bandit rolls away screaming, clutching their head and reaching for something at their waist, but Corin doesn’t give them time to do it, launching himself at their exposed back and jamming his vibroblade in the juncture between their neck and skull. 

They jerk, once, before they crumple forward in a heap of twitching limbs.

Corin doesn’t take the time to check if they're truly dead. He staggers to his feet, wincing when the wound on his leg protests, and stumbles to where Din is laying, collapsing to his knees at his partner’s side. The sand here is red and wet and Corin feels his rage being quickly replaced by panic as he grasps Din’s plackart, pulling the beskar up, and sees the stained fabric of the shirt underneath. 

“No, no, no… Din? Din, stay with me,” he tries, desperate, and reaches up to feel for a pulse. Din saves him the trouble by drawing in a shallow breath and turning his visor to face Corin. 

“S’okay,” he slurs and Corin feels his heart stutter. He presses one hand against the wound, ignoring the moan of pain that it causes, and uses his other hand to keep a steady hold on the back of Din’s neck; the dagger had slipped between the gaps in the beskar armor and then the gaps in Din’s ribs and then into whatever lay beneath, and Corin swallows thickly as blood continues to seep through his fingers. 

_ Too much _ , Corin’s mind supplies and then he pushes the thought away in favor of leaning down and touching his forehead to Din’s helm. 

“I’m gonna get you back to the  _ Crest, _ ” he murmurs in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. Din doesn’t respond for a few seconds and Corin sucks in a nervous breath, pressing down harder on the wound and feeling a wave of guilty relief when Din flinches. “ _ Ni ceta,  _ love _.  _ Stay with me.” 

Din only grunts and brings a shaky hand up to touch Corin’s cheek. 

“Y’got blood…’ere...” 

“It’s not mine, it’s not mine,” Corin stammers, still trying to staunch the steady flow of blood from Din’s wound.

“Figured…” Din rasps, before his head falls back. “S’blue…”

He hand comes away to weakly grip Corin’s at his side. 

Corin grimaces and gives Din’s neck a gentle squeeze, before slipping an arm behind his back and helping the Mandalorian sit up. Din gasps, his entire body shuddering with the movement.

“I’ve got you,” Corin murmurs, holding him close. “Just breathe. Just breathe,  _ ner kar’ta. _ ” 

Din does just that, his chest heaving with the effort, and leans his entire body against Corin. Corin gives him a few seconds, before grabbing the discarded plackart and pulling Din up, bearing most of the other’s weight as he does. He tries his best to ignore the way Din sucks in a shallow breath and, instead, slings the Mandalorian’s arm around his shoulder. He keeps one hand pressed firmly against Din’s wound; the blood is still flowing, but Din manages to keep his feet underneath him as they begin to half-walk-half-stumble to where the  _ Crest _ sits safely in the shadow of a distant dune.

As they pass one of the bodies, Corin snatches the credit pouch from their belt; if they weren’t going to earn the bounty they came for, they might as well take what they deserved anyways. 

Corin talks the entire way back, quiet affirmations and encouragements flowing from his mouth with pause; anything to keep Din awake and moving. His partner responds, be it in a rather strained voice or broken hum, but it’s enough to reassure Corin that they’ll make it to the  _ Crest _ in time. 

It was bad luck that the bounty had been a set up. Bad luck that the bandits had been more than typical wandering outlaws. Bad luck that one had been able to land a hit on Din. 

It was going to be alright, though. Din was still conscious and upright. Corin could see the  _ Crest _ in the distance. There were some medpacks on board. 

Good luck. They had some good luck, too. 

10 feet away from the ship, Din’s legs give out. 

In an instant he’s dead weight, pitching forward, his arm slipping off of Corin’s shoulder; the only thing that stops him from hitting the ground face first is Corin, who catches him and then nearly buckles under the sudden burden. 

“Din! Din!” 

Din is silent, save for his harsh breathing, muffled by his modulator. Corin hefts him upwards, holding him from beneath his armpits. 

“Din, stay with me,” Corin groans and begins to make his way towards the ship. He fumbles for Din’s arm, pressing a button on his vembrance and grunting as he drags Din up the newly lowered ramp. 

They make it inside, Corin panting as he all but dumps Din on a nearby work bench. He immediately sets to work, removing the rest of Din’s upper armor and his helmet, and then cutting his shirt away to reveal the wound; he bites back a wail at the state of it. It’s still bleeding, sluggishly, but even through the blood he can see that it’s deep; its edges are ragged and torn, the result of a twisting dagger. 

“Oh, Din,” Corin murmurs and grabs a clean cloth; Din groans when it’s pressed against his side, his back arching, and Corin has to use his free arm to anchor Din back down to the table. “Easy, easy,  _ cyar’ika _ . You’re gonna be alright, I promise.” 

Din makes a noise akin to dying loth cat. Corin’s not really sure if it’s a response to his words or to the pain. 

“You’re going to need stitches… at some point…” Corin mutters, more to himself than anything, and grabs a medpack, rummaging through it. There’s no bacta to be found, though he does uncover a small syringe and a promising looking vial. “For now…” 

He pulls out a roll of bandages and then a bag filled with a soft, pillowy substance. Corin looks them both over, bites his lip, and then turns to Din; he prays that what little medical procedure he’d been taught from  _ Before  _ has remained with him. 

“I’m gonna pack your wound.” 

* * *

Hours later, in the shadows of the ship, Corin sits with his back against the bed cot, tapping his foot in rhythm with Din’s breathing. 

Din is laying on the cot, his wound packed and stitched and wrapped and Corin, who should be watching Din’s pulse or checking the wound’s drain or doing something even mildly useful, is staring at his own hands instead, and the blood that’s now covering them.

There’s a lump in the back of his throat that he refuses to let loose; he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and breathes deeply. Still the feeling persists; he takes another breath. 

In and out. 

In and out. 

In and-

“You’re g’nna hyperven’late if y’keep doin’ tha…” 

Corin nearly falls over with how fast he turns around, gripping the edge of the cot for leverage as he scrambles to a kneeling position. 

“Din!” 

Din is staring at him through lidded eyes and Corin nearly sobs in relief when the Mandalorian smiles at him weakly. He reaches a hand up to card his fingers through Din’s hair where it’s still plastered to his forehead. Din hums at the contact, his gaze never leaving Corin’s. 

“S’rry…” Din slurs, a flash of guilt overtaking his features. 

“It’s alright,” Corin breathes and leans over to press a light kiss to Din’s temple. “You’re alright… you’re alright...” 

Somehow, Din manages to bring his hand up to rest on the back of Corin’s neck; his grip is weak, but it’s there, and Corin finds comfort in the contact. He heaves a shaky sigh, and presses his forehead to Din’s.

They sit there, silent save for the rasp of Din’s breath and the ever present creaking of the  _ Razor Crest _ , before Corin reluctantly pulls away, running a thumb over Din’s cheek. 

Din blinks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Feel… weird…” 

“It’s probably the pain killers.” Corin explains, nodding to the discarded syringe and vial. “They’ll be wearing off soon…” 

“How long… ‘sleep...?”

“A few hours.” Corin says softly, then turns away. “I need to check your wound.”” 

“Wher’ are we?” Din asks, ignoring Corin. Corin quirks and eyebrow glances behind him at the rest of the ship. 

“In the  _ Crest.”  _

Din rolls his eyes, though the effect is somewhat lost due to his pallor. Corin begins undoing his bandages. 

“Meant… th’planet…” Din continues, eyes following Corin’s hands as they pull back the last of the bandages. Din grimaces at the sight. 

“Forgive the shoddy craftsmanship,” Corin whispers, eyeing the hastily done stitches. Din blinks sluggishly. 

“S’fine.” 

“We haven’t actually left yet,” Corin answers Din’s earlier query, pulling out a roll of fresh bandages. 

“Why…?” 

Corin bites his lip, tracing the edge of the wound with his finger. 

“Couldn’t leave you… I was afraid that if I went up to the cockpit, I’d come down later and you’d be…” He trails off, shrugging and throwing DIn a watery smile. Din watches him, his gaze a mixture of regret and adoration. 

“M’not goin’ anywhere…” 

His words are still slurred, but the affection in his eyes is clear enough. 

Corin chuckles, though there’s little humor to it; he opens his mouth to retort, but finds that he doesn’t have the energy, and returns to tending to Din’s wound, instead, before shifting to kneel closer to the head of the cot. He rests his arms next to Din and leans forward. 

“The kid’s gonna be mad at you. Especially after the tantrum he threw at being left behind.” 

Din’s lips twitch, the corners turning upwards in a small, knowing smile. 

“Prob’ly…” He draws in a shallow breath and Corin winces, placing a hand on Din’s chest in response. “Shame he can’t speak, yet…” 

“I’m sure he’d have lots to say.” 

“Try to heal me…”

“He’d try to feed you frogs for sure.” 

Din flashes him a weak smile and Corin pats his chest lightly, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Din returns it as best he can, sighing when Corin pulls away; his eyes droop as he tries to refocus on Corin, who simply kisses him again and then turns to pull a blanket over him. 

“You should rest,” Corin murmurs and feels his heart give a little flip when Din shifts to be closer to him. “I’ll be here.” He hesitates, glancing down at his hastily bandaged leg. “Won’t be going anywhere for a bit.” 

Yeah… the kid was going to be pissed at  _ both _ of them. 

Din, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice Corin’s grimace; he’s already nodding off, only giving a soft hum when Corin kisses his forehead once more, before his breathing evens out. Corin sighs, watching him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the open medpack on the floor and, just behind it, the ladder leading to the cockpit. His leg twinges at the thought of climbing, but, as deserted as the desert had seemed, besides the two bandits, whose bodies were now occupying that far away dune, he knows they shouldn’t take any chances. They’ve overstayed the planet’s welcome long enough. 

He shifts so that he’s sitting once more with his back against the cot. Behind him, Din snuffles in his sleep, head nestling further into his pillow. Corin smiles, staring at him. 

  
  


After a few more moments, he turns and reaches for the medpack. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> "Ner Kar'ta" - My heart. (a term of endearment)  
> "Cyar'ika" - Lover, darling (a term of endearment)  
> "Nuhoy" - Sleep  
> "Ni kebbur’ni" - I'm trying  
> "Gar mirdir... naysol" - You think... to many (poorly phrased. Corin is still learning, I'd imagine)  
> "N’eparavu takisit" - I'm sorry. ( lit. "i eat my insult.' A less serious form of apology.)  
> "Meg" - What? (Can also mean who, when, how, why)  
> "Gar chakar’ni be nuhoy, ge’hutuun." - You rob me of sleep, villain/petty thief (Corin being dramatic)  
> "Ni ceta" - I'm sorry (lit. I grovel before you! Very serious, though, here, Din is just being dramatic as well.)  
> "Gedet’ye" - Please  
> "Gedet’ye gar par’dinuir’ni" - Please, forgive me! (par'dinuir taken from fandom)  
> "Utreekov" - Idiot  
> "Gar shuk meh kyrayce" - Relax/Rest (lit. Your no use dead. Rarely used literally.)  
> "Su’cuy, adi’ika" - Hello, little one/my child. ("Hi." Informal of "Su cuy'gar" - lit. you're still alive.)  
> "Gar ganar vercopa" - Did you dream?  
> "Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum" - I love you (lit. I know you forever)
> 
> :>


End file.
